Sunday, March 25, 2007

Absorbed In The Park Of Joan Miró

One can see
Bird ladies landing coarsely over sand.
Puzzled worms extend
From the tips of their bayonets.
Each small worm carries an umbrella.
Each a tiny candy, dancing without music or sound.
The swiveling night, rudely angular,
Is a frieze of tangled lines,
Twisted into trees,
Gnawing at the earth.
The soil of our great planet is falling,
Cries fade into sepia daydreams.
Tears illuminate the night.

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